Imaginary
by UuGgHh its Bryan
Summary: A few drabbles of Pein x Konan, based off of the song Imaginary by Evanescence.
1. Chapter 1

_I linger in the doorway_  
><em>Of alarm clock screaming<em>  
><em>Monsters calling my name<em>  
><em>Let me stay<em>  
><em>Where the wind will whisper to me<em>  
><em>Where the raindrops, as they're falling, tell a story<em>

Soft, angelic blue hair whistles through the rustling winds as a cloaked figure stands, hidden behind a vanilla white door and protected by the ever-present blanket of darkness. There is a loud wailing sound that seems to cut and lacerate through the already dank atmosphere. The effeminate figure seems frozen in their spot; molded to the floor by some type of unseen presence, some type of unseen weight. The figure can be seen as a girl upon closer inspection; no, not a girl, a _woman_. A delicate white, origami flower is nestled within a quant bun of her delicate azure hair. There is suddenly a booming voice that echoes throughout the hallway and the rest of the unseen abode; a voice it seems, one composed of pure anger and hostility it makes even the woman herself jump.

What is said by the voice cannot be made out, but even despite this knowledge the woman seems troubled by it. Her facial expression changes from one of deep thought to one of troubles uncertainty. Her figure carefully moves from its spot, a black cloak around her waving through the air delicately as her body swerves around and then is gone, a mist of tiny, white flurry disappearing with her.

Down the hall is an open window. Rain pelts violently down upon the roof of the shelter, and in a moment the woman is back into sight, lingering in front of the open passageway to the outdoors. Her hand gently reaches out; skin so white and pale it leaves one wondering if the woman has ever gone outside in her entire existence. A sharp gust is blow through the window and crashes into the woman, causing the small flower amongst her hair to whirl out and float through the air before suddenly stopping and moving back to its original spot, plastering against her head delicately like nothing had ever happened. Her fingers begin to tap softly against the sill of the window, and her mouth has formed a hard line on her powder white face. Soon enough though, those plump red lips begin to move, and a single sentence breaks through the barrier of the woman's composure, speaking so silently; it is almost as if the words were never even spoken.

"One day…"

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><p>This is just a tiny drable, all the rest will be like this, but hope someone likes it.<p>

Again, they are all based off of verse's of the song, Imaginary, by Evanescence.

Always,

Bryan(:


	2. Chapter 2

_In my field of paper flowers  
>And candy clouds of lullaby<br>I lie inside myself for hours  
>And watch my purple sky fly over me <em>

The woman is seen once more, but this time in a different area. She is laying in a field of flowers, brilliant white flowers, resting on another being beneath her. Her body is covered by the same cloak, decorated with shining red clouds that are now revealed by the brightening yellow sun. Her face is just a little less pale and her eyes seem to glow and radiate with the light beaming into them. Just beneath her lip is a small silver stud that protrudes through her lip and into the confounds of her mouth, hidden beneath layers of skin. The expression around her face is one that cannot be easily read, but seems to hold an underlying message of content to it. Her sapphire hair is not placed within its normal, neat bun, but instead is spread out on the shoulder of the body lying underneath hers. Her own figure is face up, the back of her neck cradled within the nape of a hidden neck.

The body beneath hers can be seen to be none other than that of a male. His eyes are focused on what seems to be something far away and distant, but his arms are wrapped delicately around the woman atop him. His palms lie softly against her clothed stomach and the woman's own pale hands lie on top of his. The whole scene seems quaint and happy, but there seems to be something wrong buried deep beneath the aura of the two people. The male has numerous amounts of piercings that garland his face as if ribbon were to garland the party of a newborn. The male's eyes are circular and large, and there is something odd, yet alluring about them. An infinite whirl of circles move within his eyes, forming what seems like a vortex hidden behind shockingly white irises. His hair is a bright orange color and covered in jagged spikes. The woman atop him seems comfortable, and so does he. The clouds are a paling purplish color despite the sunshine that takes up majority of the overcrowded blue space.

The girl stirs gently, and the male's eyes dart to her immediately. She begins to readjust herself so she can lie on her side, gently moving up to nuzzle the male's neck before getting comfortable and letting her eyes slip halfway shut. The male's hand gently trails up her body, moving to cup her face and run his thumb over her paling cheek softly. When he speaks, his tone is soft and hushed, as if not to disturb the calming peace all around them.

"Is everything all right, Konan?" The girl simply nods her head a few times before the male takes that as the only response he will get, his hand traveling down to her chin and gently lifting it up towards him as his face moves down, connecting their lips in the softest, most delicate of embraces. The woman sighs and lets herself fall into the kiss, closing her eyes and allowing the man to absorb her and pull her closer, molding their bodies together gently.

Fleeting emotion one could only wish to be permanent. _  
><em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Don't say I'm out of touch  
>With this rampant chaos - your reality<br>I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge  
>The nightmare I built my own world to escape<br>_

Tossing and turning. Her small, petite body is crashing within the blankets of her sleep. The room around her seems to be disturbingly calm despite her thrashing, and little calls can be made out; originating from the woman. Sweat is beating down her body as it tangles itself within the sheets, images of fire and pain and blood rushing through her head; images of her. Words such as "help" and "protect" are audible within the room, but there seems to be no one around to tend to it. The building is empty besides the woman, and the way her hair is frizzed and spread out almost violently amongst the now ravaged pillow and crumpled sheets, it's clearly obvious she has been at it for a while.

As her fingers begin to close on the fabric it begins to rip, small prickles of paper seeming to jab through it and tear the delicate cloth. Her body is arching slightly now and her teeth dig into her bottom lip, almost as if she is possessed. But no, too much of the woman's dismay she is not possessed. She is suffering from the stress and relapse of war, and sorrow, and loss. So much has the woman let slip through her fingers; the fingers of such a frail and yet sturdy being, it is a wonder she is left alone to tend to such a large dwelling all by her lonesome. Her mouth opens slightly and a tiny, moan of agony can be heard rattling through the darkness of her room. There is a window to the right of the bed, and once more, the ritualistic rain is pounding against the glass so heard, there is a subconscious fear within the woman that it will shatter and break.

Little does she know, this dream, this nightmare is all of her own doing. She was the one who went to him, and she was the one who wanted to escape and recreate it all. She is the angel; one who guards a god, and all of our actions have consequences, including hers, she is just feeling the recoil now. She feels the sting of regret jab and puncture into her heart. She feels the deafening silence of absolute loneliness. She feels the painful gouge from a knife of pity taken upon her; she feels it all, she just feels it in a world where no one else can see it. She feels it within a world of re-lived battles and cyclic anguish; it is a world she has created, and it is a world she has yet figured out how to escape.

Finally, as the woman's body arches up more and a bone chilling scream can be heard, she is hovering above her bed; immense paper wings flourished out on both of her sides, folded and creased in the middle, an obvious change in the room's atmosphere. There is a less obvious alteration, though; the woman is no longer alone. Around her are five beings, all poised and ready to kill; for her, for their angel. There is one more person in front of her; her god, her savior. His eyes are scanning over her tattered and petrified appearance. He throws his mind into the terror lacing her eyes, the trembling of her body and fear gripping her soul. Ever so carefully, his hands reach out and lie onto the woman's waist. She doesn't flinch, she doesn't move; she wants him to hold her. She wants him to be there, and so he is.

He pulls her body in close, and the woman lets her arms fold around his torso and crush herself to him, head moving into the cradle of his neck as one of his hands entwines itself in her cerulean locks, fingers massaging against her scalp softly. His other arm remains around her waist to keep her there, assuring her that nothing can hurt her anymore, not since he's here; he won't ever allow it. Her large wings crease more and begin to envelop both of their figures slowly, letting their legs disappear, than arms, than torsos, and finally their faces, but not before revealing something.

A tear drop stain from one paper angel.


	4. Chapter 4

_Swallowed up in the sound of my screaming  
>Cannot cease for the fear of silent nights<br>Oh, how I long for the deep sleep dreaming  
>The goddess of imaginary light<br>_

An earsplitting howl can be heard echoing through the blackening night air of the damp, stormy city. Rain is viciously abusing all of the pavement and cement structures it comes in contact with, along with the unfortunate faces of those caught out in the middle of such a violent storm. There is a bustle- a commotion in the heart of the city, and there seems to be a river of crimson tainting the ever-present blackened roads as water trails down them. Figures hide and meld within the shadows that they are engulfed by, and it is here where the thrive and assault from; somewhere safe yet wholly unrecognizable to the simplistic human eye. There are craters everywhere; they wreathe the city with a sense of destruction and peril. There are no corporeal people visible in the streets, there is just fleeting memories of the violence that took place there.

Bodies are strewn across the pavement like a row of fallen dolls. Each one is shattered in its own way, each broken in a different manner; some more brutal than others. The city seems to be bathed in crimson rain as people watch from apartments, silently weeping for those who have passed and will forever remain breathless within the streets. It seems as if the everlasting tainting mark of blackness has overcome the city; it is a brand that causes its citizens to panic and question if they have ever really been in good hands. But then there is something that gives them hope; their angel. The woman who swooped down from above, wings blossoming out to show and demonstrate just how much power can be held within a tiny, petite frame such as hers. The woman's hair is in its typical bun, and the paper flower than was once held within it now hovers in the air above an open palm in front of her body. The paper begins to expand and rearrange itself as the woman speaks up in a sweet, delicate tone of sorts.

"Paper will spread, paper will consume, and paper will be your downfall." Soon the paper is listening to the woman as if an animal listens to its trainer. It is expanding and flourishing out, and soon a large, umbrella sort of dome can be seen surrounding the city. The light is blocked out and so is the rain, leaving the city in somewhat of a dormant slumber state. But before anyone can even blink, before anyone can even think to gather their thoughts; bloodshed is brought upon once more. Jagged blades of paper begin to rain down from all sides of the dome, crashing into everything beneath it and impaling themselves through the unseen and hidden targets within the shadows. The woman smirks for a moment: shadows tainted with a sickening crimson is something she has yet to see, but something she believes she will never miss.

But then the origin of the scream if finally unveiled; it is the woman. A large piece of rock has gouged itself through her right shoulder, and the creator of the crude weapon is smirking from beneath the angel; blood seeping through his body as well as the corners of his mouth. Paper is strung threw his body, but yet he is still breathing, still functioning. As he begins to push and attempt to impale the angel further; he is killed before he even had a chance to think about it. A larger boulder, four times the size of his own, has completely crushed his body into nothing. Once more, the god has saved her. His body is hovering in the air, pure and insidious rage emanating from all around him. He turns quickly, removing the rock from the angel- from _his_angel. He hears her tiny gasp before pulling her into his arms and disappearing, leaving the tattered city in awe at all the surreal events that have taken place in front of their eyes.

Later on that night, the woman, Konan, can be seen lying in her bed. Her body is wrapped in gauze and take and her chest is breathing up and down carefully slow. Her golden eyes begin to flitter open before she is alert once more, her torso slowly rising off the plus mattress and looking around. Her eyes scan over to her god, who walks out of another room and into hers. His eyes meet the angels for the briefest of moments before dashing away. His body is not cloaked by much of anything; just strappy black pants that hang too low for any type of public appearance. His angel doesn't mind though, because she loves her god; she's always loved her god. He walks over to where his large cloak is and picks it up, moving to put it on, but then he is stopped.

"No," her voice is tiny as the paper intrudes against his body, preventing the fabric from being added.

"Leave it…please." Such a weary, begging tone, that the male cannot help but nod and place the fabric down once more. Her body begins to move slowly, moving off the bed in just her underwear and wrapped torso, approaching her god slowly. He doesn't turn to face her, and the woman has trouble hiding the pain from her face. Her arms wrap delicately around his torso from behind, her fingers moving over his body slowly as her lips connect with his neck. It is then he speak up, his voice imminently hiding a sorrowful, somnolent tone.

"I could have lost you."

"But you didn't." Her words quickly counter his, before she is gently turning him around, turning him to face her. She lets the smallest, most minuscule smile spread onto her appearance before looking at him. Her hands move to cup his face softly, bringing it down once more to connect their lips, letting flesh move against flesh as his hands work their way around her slender, exposed figure and pull her taught against his own skin. She smiles as the chaste expression of love is stopped and her body is being moved. The grin doesn't stop spreading as her body is pushed down and her back connects with the mattress once more. She smiles up at her god, her lips parting to speak his name so softly, letting each syllable brush against them carefully.

"Pein.." she is cut off by his set of lips and a tongue brushing past hers. A tiny sound is heard before he is whispering in her ear, hand pushing into her hair once more.

"Shh…don't talk, Konan…" and just the way he says her name, the way his tone is laced with such desperation, such need; she is completed. And soon there is such a bright light clouding her vision, such a lovingly dazzling light; there is no sleeping. There will be no dreaming for the woman tonight.

Because paper dreams have become palpable reality.

* * *

><p>Well, it's over, that was it! Hope someone liked it and actually read it, maybe? D;<p>

Let me know please && thank you3

Always,

Bryan(:


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